I remember sitting in a guest house at EWTN in
Alabama—where I was working on a new history-and-traditions series at the time—and
watching, via my computer, a great event unfolding in my native city of London.
And I thought: “This is history…but because I know the Cathedral so well it
looks just, somehow, ordinary!” And somehow “ordinary” was exactly the right
words because—forgive the pun—I was watching Msgr. Keith Newton being
established as the ordinary of the newly-created Ordinariate of Our Lady of
Walsingham.
He and two other former Anglican bishops were ordained as Catholic
priests in Westminster Cathedral; he was appointed as ordinary and the other
two as vicars-general. Msgr. Newton is the ordinary—with the rank and style of
a bishop—because he cannot actually be a bishop, as he is married (to Gill, who,
incidentally, has since become a good friend and with whom I
have been carol-singing at London Bridge railway station).
It was indeed history—Anglicans being invited to come into full
communion with the Catholic Church, entering as groups along with their
pastors, bringing with them their Anglican traditions in music and liturgy and
pastoral practice. Pope Benedict XVI had called out “to groups of Anglicans”—Anglicanorum
Coetibus—with an invitation that had come as a result of Anglican pleading.
With the ordination of women in the Church of England, it looked as though
hopes for reunion had ended, a door slammed shut, years of well-intentioned
dialogue ending in a fruitless void. But Benedict salvaged something and opened
a new chapter of history. For those who wished to come into full communion, a
new door opened.
Six years on, it’s worth looking at how things are going.
It didn’t get off to an easy start, and things still are not easy. An
initial press conference made a cheery show of goodwill, with the archbishops
of Canterbury (CofE) and Westminster (RC) making friendly noises. But it was
uncomfortably clear that there was an air of discomfort. After all, this was an
effective acknowledgement that the CofE had moved into a sort of backseat
position as far as Rome was concerned.
Like it or not, the Anglicans were now
going to be spectators and friendly visitors in Rome, not potential members of
the family. The ordination of women, so far from being a minor issue (“What’s
the problem? Women can be bus drivers and Prime Ministers can’t they? So why
not priests?” a dear Anglican friend said to me in genuine puzzlement), was and
is a central issue. The Catholic Church cannot ordain women and this has been
reaffirmed clearly by Pope Francis, affirming the clear message of Pope St.
John Paul—and of the unchangeable practice of the Church right back to Christ
himself and his Apostles.
The creation of the Ordinariate undoubtedly ruffled some feathers. It
also proved difficult to explain to some cradle-Catholics. People asked—and
still ask—“But are they real Catholics?”
Over and over again, it has to
be emphasized: yes, they are.
A priest of the Ordinariate of Our Lady of
Walsingham is a Catholic priest, just like a Dominican priest, or a Franciscan
one, or a Jesuit one. They celebrate the Roman Rite of Mass, but if they wish
they can use the Ordinariate form, which incorporates some prayers from the
Anglican tradition, in words familiar to Anglicans over four centuries of use
in England’s churches. And they can incorporate in their ministry some
expressions and traditions from Anglicanism—Evensong, Sunday School, Harvest
Thanksgiving…
In Devon, an energetic local Ordinariate group led by Father David
Lashbrooke raised funds and bought a Methodist church that was due to close down;
they are now transforming it into a busy little Catholic church dedicated to
Our Lady of Walsingham and St. Cuthbert Mayne ( a local Catholic martyr of the
16th century).
In Kent, Father Ed Tomlinson and his team took on a small
Catholic hall which served as a Mass-center on Sundays; it’s now a thriving
church with a lovely sanctuary, statues, devotional side-chapel, and packed
pews—with a new hall built alongside for the Sunday School and other
activities.
At London Bridge, the rather run-down Church of the Most Precious
Blood was given to Ordinariate care; it now has a new floor, new heating, a new
confessional, beautiful vestments, a children’s choir singing chant—and is full
every Sunday and with a good weekday congregation.
Processions now go through
the streets in May—carrying a statue of Our Lady, of course—at Corpus Christi,
at the Assumption, and at the feast of Christ the King. I
was invited last spring to celebrate St. George’s Day in the village of
Gainford in County Durham; here the lovely Catholic church in the heart of the
village is now in the care of Father Ian Grieves of the Darlington Ordinariate,
and I have never celebrated St. George in greater style or with more gusto. And
every year in Holy Week, Ordinariate priests from across Britain gather at the
central London church at Warwick Street near Piccadilly Circus for the Chrism
Mass, with the papal nuncio in attendance, and lavish music from a splendid
choir.
But there has been coolness from some quarters—Catholic quarters: “These
people say women can’t be priests,” said an indignant voice at one Catholic
gathering where the subject of the Ordinariate came up. “So does Pope Francis,”
I reminded her. Then there is an innate
conservatism of many Catholics—not without value in its way, but it can take
strange forms: “Why can’t these people just become, well, normal—I mean,
just join a parish and merge in?”
Well, why do we need anything new, ever? Why
didn’t Mother Teresa stay in her perfectly good convent and continue teaching
geography to girls at a Calcutta high school? Why did John Paul invent World
Youth Day? Why have a big pro-life rally every January in the USA and have
people driving through the night to get there? Why don’t the Neo-Catechumenate
just stop doing mission work?
I’m not sure where the Ordinariate is going next. The journey so far has
required courage and faith. An Anglican clergyman seeking to lead his flock
into full communion with the Catholic Church will lose his home, his status,
his livelihood.
And the flock—even though they disagree with current Anglican
stances on women priests, same-sex “marriage,” the Eucharist, the nature of
Christ himself, and more, have their own conservatism.
One former Anglican who
is now an Ordinariate member described the reaction of his parish when the
issue lay starkly before them: “They just kept saying ‘But, Father, we are
Anglicans. We agree with everything you’re saying—but we don’t want to become
Roman Catholics.’ And then there’s the church building—they are very attached to
it…”
People are often also tribal: they have their own sense of identity and
say things like, “My family has always been Anglican” (not strictly true, of
course, given the realities of history, but…). There are nuances of identity
that defy easy analysis. And sometimes people take positions that have a bit of
absurdity about them, like the poor lady who told me she simply couldn’t go to
church anymore because there was now a woman priest who talks about “gay rights,”
but “the Catholic Church is something for other people. I just stay at
home. And I’m rather unhappy.”
So things proceed slowly. Some Anglicans seeking full communion with the
Catholic Church will quietly make their own decisions and join a local Catholic
parish, following an RCIA course. Some Anglican clergy will opt simply to apply
to become priests in the local Catholic diocese.
But the Ordinariate has a special
calling, fulfils a special need. Unwittingly, one of the things it has done has
been to give something of a boost to cradle Catholics, who relish its
contribution to good liturgical practice, good music, and a strong sense of the
glory of the Catholic Faith.
When Msgr. Keith Newton spoke to Pope Benedict after the first couple of
years of the Ordinariate’s existence, the latter took his hand after hearing
reports of how things were going and said, “Just go forward in faith.”
And I
think they’ll do just that.